


The True Story of the Destruction of the Fashion Club

by ticknart



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 23:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12096183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticknart/pseuds/ticknart
Summary: The Fashion Club officially "disbanded" at Jodie's graduation party, but the girls promised to get together during the summer. When school starts next fall, it's not so easy to stay together anymore.





	1. The True Story of how Stacy Rowe Destroyed the Fashion Club

**The True Story of how Stacy Rowe Destroyed the Fashion Club**

Everything was great at the beginning of her senior year. Sure, the Fashion Club had sort of disbanded during the summer, but Quinn, Tiffany, Sandi, and Stacy still spent lots of time together. They talked clothes and makeup and boys, all the things they used to do in Fashion Club, but there was no reason to pretend that it was all they thought about anymore.

Tiffany did what she enjoyed most, spending her parents’ money and dating as many guys as possible. The pickings were slim at the high school, though. She was a senior and it was unseemly to date lower class-men, even if they were really popular, and she’d already dated the desirable guys in the senior class. After the Fashion Club broke up, she started putting feelers out at Lawndale State, going to parties and making sure she was known in the right circles. College men were what she wanted, and there were plenty out there for her to get at.

When school started, Sandi seemed listless. Sure, to the average student and the teachers she was still throwing out advice to students about how to dress and trying to tell teachers what and how they should be teaching, but she wasn’t her normal, overly confident self anymore. Eventually, though, she found the project she needed to keep her from turning into Tiffany: Kevin Thompson, the star quarterback. He was still in school with them, even though he had been a senior the year before. When Sandi learned what had happened to him and that he wasn’t dating anyone, she made her move. First she convinced him that they were supposed to be together; Stacy had her suspicions how. Then Sandi started to remake Kevin. Now he only wore his uniform or any school colors on game days. She made sure he had the most stylish shirts and hats and that he wore the right brand of shoes. She cured him of sticking straws up his nose, when she was around at least, and taught him the proper ways to snub both the not attractive and the fairly attractive who showed interest in him. Sandi was as happy as she could be which really meant she was too busy to sit and think about herself.

To Stacy, Quinn was the biggest surprise. Their junior year, Quinn had started paying more attention in classes. She started to volunteer to answer questions in class. Volunteered! Her grades went up and when they took the STATs that May, Quinn got the highest score out of the four Fashion Club member by nearly two hundred points and Quinn thought she could do better when she took the test again in the fall. So, three afternoons a week Quinn studied and since she didn’t have secretary duties, which were pretty much anything Sandi told her to do, Stacy joined her best friend studying.

Quinn still dated, but not as much as she used to. Like Tiffany, Quinn saw how thin the pickings had gotten at Lawndale High, but unlike Tiffany, Quinn didn’t want to move in on college guys. She mostly stuck with Jamie, Jeffy, and Joey because she knew them and it was only to relax from her studying. It all seemed to be working for her, too. She was just as popular as ever. Her clothes were always the cutest. And her grades were really good.

Stacy was a bit jealous, but also really happy for her best friend. Maybe it was because Quinn’s weird sister had gone away to college, or maybe it was just Quinn was just becoming what she always could have been, Stacy wasn’t sure, but whatever it was it that Quinn had filled Stacy infectious energy to do something. To be something.

Over the summer, Stacy learned to sew. She knew that after she finished school she wanted to work in the fashion industry. Unlike the other girls, Stacy didn’t think she could be content just talking or writing and commenting about fabrics and colors and trends, she wanted to be the one creating the clothes everyone was talking about.

On summer Sundays, Stacy lugged her mother’s old sewing machine to her grandmother’s house to be taught. They started out simple, with scraps of material sewn together so Stacy could see how the different stitches were used. The hardest part was learning not to be afraid of the needle. In her mind she could see herself working with the fabric, feeding it into the machine and then being pulled along with it and having her hand stitched into the cloth. It made her go slow at first, but her grandma was patient and kept reminding her that the only way a sewing machine could hurt her was if she let her mind drift. “Stay focused on the point where cloth and needle meet,” she said, “and you’ll be fine.”

During the rest of the week, on the days that she wasn’t studying with Quinn, she’d practice in her room and work on the projects she started with her grandma. The first thing she ever made on her own was a pillow case made out of an adorable baby blue material with printed ducks and bunnies. She was so proud when she put her pillow in it and swung it around the room and the case held together. She was so happy; she squealed and danced around her room.

Her next project was a gift for her friends. She made boxer shorts. Yeah, they were kind of a joke, but there were plenty of girls who liked to wear boxers to bed, and she’d put some serious thought into the print on the material to make it special for each girl. Of course she’d practiced making a pair for herself, out of the left over pillow case material, and she found that the hardest part of this was working with the blankety-blank elastic, otherwise it was like making the pillow case. The biggest difference was that not all the seams were straight, but that made it more challenging, and that made it more fun.

When she finished, she put each pair into a bag for the girl and straightened the colored tissue paper, trying to make it look nice. Each girl got a different color: Quinn’s was pink, Tiffany’s a nice pale green, and Sandi’s a sky blue. Those seemed to be the girls’ favorite colors and it was an easy way to remember who got which bag without having to look at a card.

Stacy slid herself off her bed and onto the floor. She stretched her arms and back and legs and toes then gathered the bags in her arms. She hummed a tuneless tune as she walked over to her desk and carefully arranged the bags in front of her mother’s sewing machine. She wondered how hard it would be to convince her parents to get her a brand new sewing machine for Christmas. Maybe one that could stitch embroidered designs automatically. That would be fun.

“Stacy,” her mother called from down stairs, “come to the dining room, your father and I need to talk to you about something.”

Her face fell. She couldn’t imagine what they might want to talk to her about. She hadn’t done anything wrong at school, at least nothing she could remember. She’d put the dishes in the dishwasher away when she got home from school. At least she was pretty sure she had.

Stacy’s parents sat her down at the dining room table, both looked very serious and Stacy was nervous. Was it about her college applications? They weren’t due until the end of next month, she had plenty of time to get that stupid essay about the people she wanted to eat dinner with finished. Could it be about her grades? Sure, they weren’t perfect, but since she’d been studying with Quinn her test scores had been improving. Most of them had changed from C’s to B’s. Low B’s, but that was still an improvement.

They hovered over her for what seemed like an hour before her mom said, “Stacy, honey, we have something we have to talk about.”

She paused and looked as Stacy’s dad. He looked back and gave a little shrug. They both looked uncomfortable and her dad looked a little embarrassed. Was this going to be about sex? Did they think she had been having sex? Was there some rumor about her she didn’t know about? She’d never had sex. She’d never let a guy get past second base, and even then it was still over the bra. There had been a little grinding, too. Oh God, would she have to explain that to them? Sure, it was better than having them think she’d had sex, but she didn’t want them to know anything about her sex life. Couldn’t they be like normal parents and just not think about it until she got married and then worry that she wasn’t having enough to get them a grandkid?

The silence had gone on too long, someone had to say something.

“What’s this about?” Stacy asked, hoping it was a safe enough question that they wouldn’t pounce on her.

“Stacy, sweetheart,” her dad said, running his hand through his thinning hair, “my firm… You see… Well, a big mistake was made down at the office. You know what I do, right?”

“Sure, Dad. You invest money for people into companies and buy and sell and trade stocks and bonds and stuff, right?”

“Good girl. You’re absolutely right. Now, do you understand how we get money from that?”

Her mother rolled her eyes and said, “Christ, Daniel.”

He looked at her mother. “Fine, fine. I’ll get on with it.” He turned back to Stacy. “Okay, well, there was this company, this energy company, that was making lots of money. It kept buying smaller energy companies so it could make even more money, understand?”

Stacy nodded, not sure what this had to do with her.

“See, it was doing so good that my firm kept buying stock in it. The price kept going up, see? It looked like it would go up and up and never stop. We invested a lot of money there, see?”

“Yeah, Dad,” she said.

“It was doing so good that even my colleagues were putting their own money into it. I did it.” He took a deep breath. “The thing is, sweetheart, that the company was… Well, it was lying. Sure, it was merging with and acquiring all those other companies, but it was lying about its profits.” He started talking faster. “Some fancy accountants decided that they wanted their options to go through the ceiling so they could sell and leave the company millionaires. And it’s not like there was anything we could do about it. They write and issue their own reports and that’s all we have to go on. I mean maybe it’d be better if there was some independent auditing board out there that went over the books of companies of certain sizes and then they’d write the reports.” He wasn’t really talking to anyone but himself anymore. “Oh, sure, it smacks of regulation and socialism, but it’d be a lot of help for guys like me. Guys just trying to make a living, to support his family. We’d actually know what was going on, money wise, and we could make better decisions. I mean that’s the rule, right? the better the information, the more truthful the information a guy has the more likely he is to make good decisions and not watch the money he invested for himself and dozens of others just disappear,” he snapped his fingers, “like that, with no warning. No warning at all.”

Stacy looked at her mother, her eyes saying, “What?”

“What he’s saying, Stacy,” her mother said, “is that we’re broke. Or nearly broke.”

“What?” Stacy asked, shocked.

“We have no money. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, looking back and forth between her parents. “What does this mean for me?”

Her parents looked at each other. Her mother pulled out the chair next to Stacy and, reaching for Stacy’s hand, said, “It means no more shopping trips. No more new clothes. Not from Cashman’s, no more trips to Junior Five, not from anywhere.”

Stacy gasped, her lip quivered, and she nodded. It hurt, but she could survive on last season’s clothes. There was no Fashion Club, so she didn’t have to stay right on top of the trends anymore. She could mix and match the clothes she did have to keep her look interesting, unique, and as fashionable as anyone at school. If she got desperate for something new-ish to wear, she could always shop at one of those stores down on Dega Street where they sold vintage clothes, but didn’t call themselves vintage. There were plenty of options for her.

“It means your mother,” her father put his hand on her mother’s shoulder, “will be going back to work.”

“Mom?” asked Stacy, looking into her mother’s eyes. “Really? What about your charities?”

“They’ll find someone else to do the work,” she said, stroking Stacy’s hand, and looking sad. The charity work her mother did was as soothing to her as shopping was to Stacy. “My family needs me to get back out there and start transcribing letters,” Stacy’s mother looked up at her husband and shrugged, “or something.”

Her father got down on his knees, put his hands on Stacy’s and her mother’s, and said, “And… we can’t afford to send you to college.”

Stacy closed her eyes and closed her mouth as tightly as she could to keep her lip from quivering. It didn’t work very well.

“I… I’m so sorry, Stacy,” he said in a low voice. “We just can’t. We can’t even afford to pay the fees for all those applications you brought home.”

Tears leaked out from the corners of Stacy’s eyes and she felt sobs building in her chest. She wanted to wail. She didn’t, though. The Stacy from a year ago would have. She would have burst into tears and run for her room, screaming. She wasn’t like that anymore. She wasn’t the kind of girl who would spend an entire Saturday crying over a guy being a jerk. She was stronger than that now. She had stood up to Sandi and stepped back from the comfort that was the Fashion club. Besides, wailing wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t make her feel any better. It wouldn’t give her parents the money they needed. It wouldn’t turn back time so that her father could not make his mistake. It would do nothing. Nothing at all.

“We’re sorry, honey,” said her mom. “We’ve seen how hard you’ve worked in school. We’re so proud of you for doing it on your own, too.”

“We know how much you want to go to college,” said her dad. “I’m sorry, Stacy. I’m sorry I failed you. I– I love you.”

“We both love you, very much,” said her mom.

Stacy tried to take a deep breath but it something in her chest kept cutting it short. Once her lungs were full, she breathed out. Her next breath in came easier and the third, even easier still. She wiped her eyes with the back of her arm and didn’t even pause to thank the makeup industry for waterproof mascara and eye liner. Her eyes open, more tears dribbled down her cheeks. She wiped her face again and looked at her parents. Her mom looked like she was on the verge of tears. Her dad looked like he wanted to throw up and like he wanted to hit something and like he wanted to be able to take her in his arms and kiss her boo-boo and blow the pain away. He couldn’t, though, and they both knew it.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” asked her dad. “What are you thinking?”

“I think,” she said, sniffling. “I think we’re going to be okay.” She tried to smile, but knew it looked more like a grimace. “I think I can get a part time job and go to junior college.” Fresh tears slid down her cheeks. “I think we’ll be okay.”

Her mom let go of her hand and dove into her. She couldn’t remember ever being hugged like that by anyone before. “We’ll be fine,” her mom kept whispering in her ear.

Her dad took Stacy’s hand in one of his and patted it with the other. “There’s my brave girl,” he said. “The bravest girl on the whole planet.”

Stacy focused on her breathing. In and out. Slow in and slow out. Slow in and slow out. When her mom finally let her go, the tears had stopped and her breathing was no longer ragged.

Her parents stood up and looked at her.

“I think I need to get cleaned up,” said Stacy, rising from her chair and trying to smile. She put one hand on the table to steady herself and rubbed her eyes with the other. “I have homework to finish.”

“We’ll get dinner started, right, Dan,” said her mother.

“Yeah,” he said, not taking his eyes off Stacy. “Yeah. Dinner’s a good idea.”

Stacy turned around and walked, very deliberately placing one unsteady foot in front of the other, out of the dining room. She walked over to the stairs and climbed them, using the railing to pull herself up one after the other. When she reached the top, she didn’t head for the bathroom; she headed for her bedroom. It was bright enough that she didn’t have to turn on the light. Not that she would have anyway. She saw the three gift bags she’d been preparing earlier on her desk in front of her mother’s sewing machine. A gift for each of her friends. She didn’t want to think about that, though. All she wanted was her bed. She stiffly crossed the room. She climbed on top of the covers and grabbed her pillow. Her pillow covered in the pillow case she had made. She held her pillow tightly to her body and wrapped herself around it and let the tears and sobs she had held in dining room out.

She lay like that, sobbing silently, until her mother called up the stairs to say dinner was ready. Stacy uncurled herself, walked to the bathroom, washed her hands and face, touched up her makeup, and walked downstairs to dinner telling herself that everything was going to be fine. She was going to make sure of that.

During dinner, Stacy kept up the chatter. She talked about her sewing and how much fun she’d been having spending time with her grandma, chatting and watching taped soap operas as they worked. She worried about the STATs, which were coming up in a few weeks. She told her parents about her gifts for her friends, but she didn’t think either one of them understood why she would give girls boxers. By the time dinner was over and everything was cleaned up, Stacy was exhausted. She never knew that talking could wear a person out.

In the morning, she couldn’t remember washing her makeup off or getting changed for bed and she wasn’t sure if she’d just slept with her mouth open or had forgotten to brush her teeth. Not that it mattered anymore, but her mouth tasted awful

She pulled her self out of bed, cleaned up, and got dressed. Nothing fancy, just the same sort of thing she wore everyday, but it worked for her and, so far, no one had said anything bad about it. Her parents were gone by the time she got downstairs to get a small bowl of plain, fat-free yogurt into which she dropped a small handful of blue berries. She sat down at the kitchen table and let out a sigh.

She didn’t want to think about what her parent’s had said the night before, but she couldn’t help it. Things had gone from different, but nice, to horrible overnight, literally for her, if not for her parents. How long had they known this was coming? Probably a while. They had never fought, that she knew of, but they’d been talking quietly in the dining room since the end of summer. They must have known something was wrong then. But why wait so long to tell her? Was it to protect her? From what? Maybe they just didn’t want to ruin her senior year. She didn’t understand, but it was too late to worry about it. Too late to do anything except try and figure out what to do next.

A job. That was probably the first step, but where? Could she work at a fancy place like Quinn did? She’d be able to dress up for that, but could she be the one to turn people away or make them wait for a table? She wasn’t sure.

With the way her luck was running, though, she figured she’d probably end up working at some fast food place. Stuck in some awful orange smock and a cap with some horrible cartoon animal printed on it. Dressed like everyone else working there. No room for originality.

Tears welled up around her eyes.

“No, no, no,” she said to herself. “I will not cry.” She put the spoon in her bowl and set the bowl on the table. She wasn’t hungry. “I am a young woman of the modern age,” she said, paraphrasing the affirmation from an article she read in Waif’s special summer issue that focused on women who achieved all their career goals while still looking beautiful. “And as a young woman of the modern age I deserve achieve all my goals. To achieve my goals I must be strong and stylish, gutsy and generous, beautiful and bold.” She took a deep breath, stood up, and said with a forceful voice, “And I am all of those things.”

She took her bowl to the sink, gave it a quick rinse, then put it into the dishwasher before she headed back to her room. In her room, she put on a warm sweater and scarf, and grabbed her purse, her books, and the gifts for her friends. At least she had that to look forward to.

The walk to school was uneventful. The air was chilly, but the wind was calm and the sky was clear. There was no rain in the forecast, for today, at least. The closer she to Lawndale High the more students she saw. Some walked alone, like her, some in groups of three or four. She saw one couple walking to school, holding hands, their heads close together, probably whispering sweet things to each other. She sighed and wondered if there was anyone at school she could share a moment like that with. Maybe, she thought as she walked in the main door to her locker.

From her locker she waved to Quinn, who had just come in.

“Hey, Stacy,” Quinn said, walking over. “What are those?” she asked pointing at the gift bags Stacy had just stored in her locker.

“Those,” said Stacy, unwrapping and folding her scarf to store for the days, “are a surprise.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow, her way of asking, “What kind of a surprise?” without actually speaking.

“You’ll find out at lunch,” said Stacy, smiling at her best friend.

Quinn frowned, her way of asking, “Will I like it?”

“You’ll love it,” said Stacy. “Trust me.”

Quinn let her face go back to normal and actually said, “Okay.” The first bell rang. “Eep!” she said, “Gotta get to my locker. See you in class, Stacy.”

As Quinn hurried off, Stacy called, “See you in class, Quinn.”

Classes that morning moved along pretty quickly. Mr. DeMartino gave a pop quiz in history about The New Deal, which Stacey thought she did pretty well on. Math was just the teacher drawing graphs on the board. In science some of the girls got Ms. Barch riled up and she spent most of the hour lecturing the class on the biological reasons men are unreliable. She didn’t understand anything in Economics, Mrs. Bennett spent most of the period drawing diagrams using x’s and o’s and arrows, but none of it made sense, it only made everything she said more confusing.

When the bell that ended Econ and started lunch rang, Stacy was already out the door. She hurried to her locker, opened it, and grabbed the three gift bags; she wanted to be in the cafeteria at their regular table before the other girls got there. She was so excited she shivered as she hurried through the halls and into the cafeteria. At their table, she sat and waited, trying not to smile, but the corners of her lips kept twitching upward. She watched the entrance for her friends.

Sandi and Tiffany came in at the same time.

“So I told him,” Stacy heard Sandi say, “‘Fine, if it’s more important for you to go to practice than to take me shopping maybe we should just break up.’ If you know what I mean.”

“I do,” said Tiffany in her unique, drawn out way of speaking.

“And he did, too,” said Sandi, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“That’s good,” said Tiffany, reaching the table.

“Hi, Sandi,” said Stacy to the other two as they sat across from her. “Hi, Tiffany.”

“Mmm,” Sandi said, pressing her lips together while eyeing at the gift bags. “Hello, Stacy.”

“What’s in the bags?” asked Tiffany, reaching for the bag with the green paper.

Stacy pulled it out of Tiffany’s reach. “It’s a surprise,” she said. “You’ll find out what’s in it when Quinn gets here.”

“Very well,” said Sandi, examining the bags, “we’ll wait for her, but I hope she gets here soon because I have other, more important, things I could be doing.”

“I’m sure she won’t be long,” said Stacy, scanning the room and hoping she was right.

“Oh, there she is,” said Tiffany, pointing behind Stacy.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Quinn, sitting next to Stacy. “I, uh, got caught up with something and sorta couldn’t leave it alone.”

“That’s okay,” said Stacy. “Now that you’re–”

“Nice of you to join us, Quinn,” said Sandi, admiring her finger nails. “We were afraid you had forgotten your friends.”

Quinn looked at Sandi and frowned then turned to Stacy, “So, the bags?”

“Yeah,” said Tiffany, “what’s the surprise?”

“Here,” said Stacy, passing a bag to each girl. “It’s not a big deal. Just something that I made.” She looked down at the table and blushed. “It’s really kind of a joke, you know? Nothing big.”

Tiffany and Quinn each reached into the gift bags and pulled out the folded boxer shorts. Quinn shook hers out with a flick of her wrist. Tiffany set them down and carefully unfolded them and smoothed them out on the table.

“Stacy, they’re adorable,” said Quinn. Quinn’s pair of boxers was made out of a pink material with printed smiley faces scatter across it. When Stacy saw it in the store it reminded her of a shirt Quinn liked to wear. “Thank you.” Quinn reached over and gave Stacy a one armed hug.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Tiffany. Tiffany’s boxers were midnight blue printed with golden six pointed stars. The material had reminded Stacy of some of the decorations at Tiffany’s house around Christmas. “They look so comfortable.”

“You’re welcome,” said Stacy, relieved. “I’m glad you li—”

“What,” asked Sandi, looking at the black shorts covered in roses, “are these?”

“They’re boxers,” said Stacy, furrowing her brow.

“Oh,” said Sandi, “these are much too small for Kevin to wear.”

“They’re not for him, Sandi,” said Stacy, a lump growing in her throat. “They’re for you.”

“Why would I need a pair of boxer shorts for?” she asked, looking up from the shorts and into Stacy’s eyes.

“You can sleep in them.”

“Stacy, I could never wear something so,” she looked directly into Stacy’s eyes and arched an eyebrow, “cheap to bed.”

Stacy froze.

“I mean, maybe, maybe if the material wasn’t of such poor quality.”

Tears welled up and Stacy closed her eyes hoping to hold them back.

“Sandi,” Quinn hissed, “stop it.”

“Or if the stitching didn’t look like it was done by a retarded elephant who had never learned how to sew.”

Stacy sniffed, and the tears leaked out from under her eyelids. She wasn’t going to bawl, though. Not over this. She opened her eyes and forced herself to meet Sandi’s.

“Maybe,” Sandi said, smiling a cruel smile and idly fingering the waist band, “if one of those two things hadn’t happened I could be as excited as Quinn or Tiffany, but my position as a leader of students and my own personal taste could never allow me to wear such a garment.”

With a deep, shuddering breath Stacy dried her eyes with a napkin, put her hands on the table, and pushed herself up.

“Stacy?” said Tiffany in her slow way, reaching out to grab Stacy’s hand.

First, Stacy very slowly and carefully put her purse over her shoulder and picked up her books and binder and put them under her left arm. She leaned forward and reached out toward Sandi with her right hand.

“Don’t,” squeaked Quinn.

“She wouldn’t dare,” said Sandi, looking up and into Stacy’s eyes.

And she wouldn’t, even though it would make her feel great for a few minutes. Her hand darted out and snatched the boxers out of Sandi’s hand. Sandi flinched. That felt like a victory.

“Quinn, Tiffany,” she said, not taking her eyes off Sandi and keeping her voice a cool as she could, “you’re welcome. If you ever want another pair, just let me know, we’ll go shopping for material and I’ll make it for you.”

As she walked away, she heard Sandi say, “Well, if a person can’t take a little constructive criticism…” before her voice faded into the rest of the noise of the cafeteria.

She didn’t look back, but she wanted to. She wanted to know how Quinn and Tiffany had reacted to what she had done. Were they arguing with Sandi, telling her how wrong she was to say what she said? Not that it would help, Sandi just got more stubborn the more she was told she was wrong, but it would make Stacy feel better. Did they agree with Sandi? Were they sitting at the table making fun of her gift? God, she felt like such an idiot.

The left turn she made out the cafeteria door was automatic. There was no thought to it. Which was a good thing, with silent tears sliding down her cheeks, she wasn’t in the mood to concentrate on anything. Her feet just took her where she usually ended up after lunch, Mr. O'Neill’s room. Mr. O'Neill’s empty room. The other student’s wouldn’t be in for another twenty minutes, at least, so Stacy had her choice of desks to sit at. But where to sit today?

Sandi, along with her and Quinn and Tiffany, usually sat in the corner farthest from the door and the teacher, but there was no way Stacy was going to sit there today. She thought about sitting as far away from Sandi as she could, but that would put her in the corner by the door, and if she sat there Stacy would have to deal with Sandi as she came into the room after lunch. There was no way to predict how Sandi would react to seeing her there. At best, Sandi would just pretend that Stacy didn’t exist and move on to her usual seat. Although the idea of Sandi just passing by without saying a word was almost laughable. And then there’d be the pitying looks from Quinn, at least, and possibly Tiffany. Stacy didn’t want to put up with that, not right now. She chose the seat in the front of the room across from the door. She may be sitting in the same row at Sandi, but it in Sandi’s world the front was like a whole different planet. Sandi did her best to pretend the front of the class didn’t exist, which probably explained her grades.

Stacy dropped her books, binder, and purse on the desk then dropped herself into the seat and quietly cried. She knew that Sandi wasn’t always a nice person, but Stacy thought, or at least hoped, that was just Sandi’s prickly outside and on the inside she was sweet like a cream filled cookie. Not that Stacy knew what the cream in those cookies tasted like. Stacy had hoped that all the times Sandi had made fun of people it was just because she was trying to prove to the Fashion Club how much better she was than the rest of the people in school, not because she enjoyed it. It wasn’t that way, though, Stacy realized as she sobbed. Sandi was just a rotten person through and through.

“Oh,” said a voice by the door. Stacy looked up to see a shocked look on Mr. O'Neill’s boyish face. “Is something wrong, Stacy?”

Stacy pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes. “No,” she said, sniffling, “nothing’s wrong.”

Mr. O'Neill walked toward her. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I can be very good at listening to the problems of you young adults.” He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder.

She pushed him off and said, “Nothing’s wrong, Mr. O'Neill. Please leave me alone.”

“But, Stacy,” he said, crouching down so his head was nearly level with hers, “I may be able to help you.”

“Leave me alone,” she said again, more forcefully and then quieter, “please.”

“Stacy, use me, please. I have years of experience with heartbreak. Use my wisdom.” He reached for her hand.

She pulled away before he could touch her. “I just need to be left alone,” she said. “I don’t need your help.”

“What does that mean?” He leaned away from her.

“Why don’t you go ask Ms. Barch,” she said, glaring at him.

“Oh my,” he said, standing. “I really must have a talk with Janet about her lectures.” He backed away from her then walked out the door.

Stacy put her head on her desk and let herself cry until the first bell rang. After it rang, she got up, walked to the bathroom, and cleaned herself up. By the time she got back, just before the tardy bell rang, she looked as good as he had when she got to school that morning. As good as Sandi had looked.

She glided into the room and sat down in the front row seat with out acknowledging the girl in the corner, who wasn’t sitting with Quinn and Tiffany, they were on the other side of the room. It was a nice gesture that made her feel better, but she told herself it was unnecessary because this was between her and Sandi, Quinn and Tiffany could be friends with whoever they choose. It felt really good to see them so far away from Sandi, though.

Mr. O'Neill took a long look at Stacy, probably surprised that this was the same girl who had been crying just ten minutes ago. She gave him her sweetest smile.

Nothing to worry about here, she tried to convey in her smile. She was just a girl treading water in the cold ocean who had tied one end of a rope around her waist and threw the other end to her friend only to have her friend casually kick the rope back into the water. But she would be okay once things got sorted out. She would be just fine. Just fine.


	2. The True Story of How Tiffany Blum-Deckler Destroyed the Fashion Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why would Tiffany ever leave the comfort and familiarity of the Fashion Club?

**The True Story of How Tiffany Blum-Deckler Destroyed the Fashion Club**

Tiffany Blum-Deckler sat at her usual table in Lawndale High’s cafeteria, sipping at a can of diet Ultra Cola through a straw. Outside the day was sunny and warm, for late October, but she’d never eat out there. The benches were dirty and she didn’t want to get a smudge on her new skirt. And she wouldn’t even think about sitting on the grass. Grass stained. Grass was where bugs lived. Grass was just… ew.

So, she sat inside by herself, for the moment, ignoring the noise the other students made and watching her friend, Stacy Rowe, sit at a table across the room with the drama geeks. A month ago Stacy wouldn’t have sat with any geeks. A month ago Stacy would have been sitting next to Tiffany endlessly taking about things Tiffany didn’t think were important, like teachers or pizza or that book with the title about a heart where there wasn’t any light to turn on. A month ago Stacy wouldn’t have been wearing overalls.

That was the time when Stacy tried to do something nice, something different. She’d given her friends gifts that she’d sewn. Tiffany thought the gift was a bad one, but she knew better than to say anything other than “thank you.” Tiffany knew when it was best to be polite and stay quiet when someone thought they had done something good. She knew the best times to speak up.

“Some people,” said the young woman, sitting down by Tiffany, “should know better than to dress like that in public.”

Sandi Griffin, however, didn’t know how to be polite. Sure, Sandi knew how to work her brown hair in such a way that it gained wonderful body without ever getting Jersey big. Yes, she could close her eyes and find the perfect outfit at any clothing store. Tact, however, she did not have. It was something she’d probably never have.

“And it’s such a shame,” continued Sandi, “that all my years of training went to waste.”

Tiffany took a non-committal sip.

“I mean, seriously, what is Stacy thi–“

“I think,” interrupted Tiffany, taking the straw out of her mouth and speaking slowly, “that she looks cute.”

Tiffany could feel Sandi glaring, trying to burn a hole through her head.

“It’s like… farm chic.”

Sandi said, “How can yo–“

“See the way it cinches in at her waist.” She lifted up her soda, but before she put the straw between her lips, and before Sandi could say anything she said, “It’s like more support.” She turned to look at Sandi and took a sip. “Do you think she did that herself?” she asked.

Sandi frowned. Tiffany held back her smile.

Sandi said, “Her hair is so–“

“Cute,” said Tiffany. “Stacy’s always had such cute hair, don’t you think?”

“Well,” said Sandi, trailing off. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore.”

They sat in silence for a while. Tiffany played with her straw while Sandi glared across the cafeteria at the one they weren’t going to speak about. Stacy, oblivious to the two former Fashion Club members watching her, burst out laughing, spewing bits of her lunch on the table and the geek across from her. Tiffany cringed.

“Hey, ladies.”

Tiffany looked up to see Quinn Morgendorffer, the last former Fashion Club member, walking toward their usual table. Quinn, once one of the cutest girls at Lawndale High School, had lost some of her fashion sense. Recently, she’d been wearing her hair in bun. A loose bun, with loose hairs flailing around her head. She also kept using a pen or pencil to keep the bun up. Quinn had started to wear less makeup, too. Some days, no makeup at all. Today, Tiffany could see the dark rings beneath Quinn’s eyes. It was so sad to see her looking like that.

It was like Quinn had given up.

Sure, Quinn said it was only temporary. Only while she was studying for the STATs and applying to school. The college applications were due by the end of the next month, but the STATs were weeks and weeks away, in December. Why worry about them now? And why worry so much that it ruined how you look?

Tiffany sighed and played with the straw in her soda as Quinn set down a small pile of books and sat across from Sandi.

“Hello, Quinn,” said Sandi, pulling a plastic baggie of carrot stick out of her purse. “I see your trip down academic lane has had more unfortunate side effects.”

“What?” asked Quinn, looking confused.

Sandi gestured under her eyes. “Or do you think that raccoon look will be the latest trend this winter?”

“Oh,” said Quinn. “I had a late night.” She looked through her pile of books. “Had to finish that paper for DeMartino’s class.”

“Paper?” asked Tiffany.

“That assignment,” said Sandi, make the “t” sound pop, “isn’t due until next Friday.”

“I know,” said Quinn, propping open the book she pulled from the stack. “I wanted to get a draft done so I could spend this weekend working on essays for college applications.”

“But my mother’s helping us work up video essays for Pepperhill. Why bother writing anything?”

Tiffany looked from Sandi’s narrowed eyes over to Quinn and saw Quinn try to suppress a sigh.

“Sandi, Pepperhill’s not the only school I’m applying to.”

“Perhaps,” said Sandi, “but why work so hard for your safety school?”

Quinn laughed, “I’m not working hard for safety schools, but for real good colleges.”

“Like where?” asked Sandi.

“Oh, you know, schools.”

“Quinn.” Sandi’s eyes narrowed.

“Fine.” This time Quinn didn’t try to hide the sigh. “My top three choices are Renwick and Ellen Bishop and Sealy.”

Sandi’s jaw dropped. Tiffany was surprised, too, but hid it. She’d heard that those were very good schools and hard to get into.

“Aren’t those schools,” Tiffany paused then continued, “not in California?”

“Nope,” said Quinn, “Sealy’s in Boston. The other two are in upstate New York.”

“Close to Manhattan?” Tiffany asked.

Quinn smiled, “Way closer than Lawn–”

“What,” interrupted Sandi, “made you choose those schools?”

Quinn ticked the schools off on her fingers as she spoke. “Well, Sealy’s up near my sister, which could be a good thing… or a bad thing. Renwick’s the school my aunt Amy went to, and she still has some connections there. And Ellen Bishop, well, it’s a dream. Probably as close to Bromwell as I’ll ever get?”

“Bromwell?” asked Tiffany.

“Ellen Bishop was Bromwell’s sister school. They still work pretty close together.”

“Oh,” said Tiffany, turning back to her soda.

“Who gave you the idea that you could get into these schools?” asked Sandi.

“I was taking to Stacy and–”

“Stacy,” growled Sandi.

“Stacy?” asked Tiffany, looking up from the straw in her soda can.

“Yeah, Stacy,” said Quinn.

“That bi–”

“I miss Stacy,” said Tiffany, looking across the cafeteria at her friend.

“Tiffany,” said Sandi, sneering, “I told you we’re not going to talk about her anymore.”

“Why shouldn’t she talk about Stacy, Sandi?” asked Quinn. “Tiffany and Stacy are friends.”

“Because she doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Doesn’t exist?” asked Tiffany.

“I mean, look at her.” Sandi turned toward the drama geek table where Stacy was waving her hands around as she spoke. “What is she thinking hanging out with those sorts of people?”

Quinn turned around to look over at Stacy, who was laughing. “Maybe they make her happy,” she said.

“How could they make her happy?”

“Make who happy?” asked Tiffany.

“Tiffany,” said Sandi, rolling her eyes, “we’re talking about Stacy.”

“Stacy,” said Tiffany, “I miss her.”

Sandi’s eyes bulged and her cheeks flushed.

“I mean,” said Tiffany, “do you know when she’s coming back?”

Sandi grabbed her baggie of carrot stick and her purse, stood up and said, “I think I’ll go see what my boyfriend, the quarterback, is doing.” She looked pointedly from Quinn to Tiffany. “Good day, ladies.”

As Sandi stomped off, Quinn turned back to her STAT book and Tiffany smiled to herself. There were times, though, when she really did miss having Stacy around. It was never completely quiet when she was around. She helped to wipe out the rest of the noise at school. Tiffany thought about how Stacy was like crickets at night as she continued to sip on her soda.

The rest of the school day moved along as most school days did. Tiffany went to classes. Teachers talked about the things teachers talk about, but nobody really cared about. Tiffany looked at herself in her little make-up mirror, occasionally touching up her gloss. She was asked a question by one of the teachers and she gave an answer. Whether it was the right answer, she didn’t know. She didn’t really listen to the question. Why listen to anything a teacher had to say when it was Friday?  
She walked down the sidewalk outside the school to her car. The sun was bright, but the air had turned crisp and cold. She shivered a little, but never once let herself think that she should have brought any kind of a warm jacket to cover herself up in. That would be unfashionable, especially since the magazines couldn’t agree on which kind of coats were in this season.

Besides, she had parties out at Lawndale State to think about.

As she approached her cute little car, from one of those countries in Europe, everyone knew they made the most fashionable cars; she pulled her keys out of her purse and unlocked the driver’s door with the push of a button. The car made a horrible beep sound that she wished she could change to something less annoying. Maybe she could find a car guy who would know how to do it. She opened the door, casually tossed her purse onto the passenger’s seat then slid behind the wheel. She turned the key and the engine started to purr like Sandi’s cat when he was brushed. Maybe a cat's purr would be a better sound she hit the button. Or maybe hitting the button should just start the car for her. That would be helpful. She thumbed the control on the steering wheel and music from Haley Ventra’s latest CD flowed from the speakers. Haley’s music wasn’t as poppy as the music she listened to with the Fashion Club, but Tiffany liked the simple, stripped-down music and straightforward lyrics Haley wrote better than the slick songs groups like Boys ‘R Guys sang. To Tiffany, Boys 'R Guys were for looking at, not listening to.

Humming along with the music, Tiffany pulled out of her parking place without checking the mirrors, her blind spot, or even turning around to look behind her. Instead, she mentally sorted through her closet to pick out an outfit for the party out at Lawndale State. What kind of an impression did she want to give? Should she play the innocent high school girl again? A lot of the guys at the frats seemed to like that kind of girl. Like they were the one seducing her then taking her and teaching her how the wicked world worked; showing her things that she could never imagine. They never realized that the whole time she was the one with all the power. Usually, she played along with them, though, and gave them a night where they could play the wise lover. Sometimes she took control and taught them lessons they’d never imagined and left them begging for more as she strolled out of their lives. Boys were so easy.

Before she had finished planning her evening she turned into the driveway of her house and parked. She grabbed her purse, beeped the car to lock it, and headed into the house. No one was home, as usual. They had some sort of function tonight, in the city, for an art museum or an orchestra or a preschool or something that made them look good to the community. Tiffany understood forcing people to realize how good you were, so she never held it against them when they weren’t home. Besides, it left her time to do what she wanted without any questions being asked.

A few hours later, she came out of the house and headed for her car. Tonight she wasn’t going to a frat party. She decided to go to a bar near the campus, listen to whatever local band was willing to work for all-they-could-eat chicken wings, and see what kind of guys were there. Even if there wasn’t anyone interesting there, she knew of three parties on Greek Street she could get into, just in case.

The bar was called McSomthing. Sort of like that hamburger place Sandi’s brothers always wanted to eat at. The band playing was called the Hairys, or something, and was all girls. They were better than Tiffany had expected and she was surprised when they covered a song from Haley Ventra’s first CD. She never thought she would hear a Haley song live. It wasn’t exactly how Tiffany knew the song, but it made her feel good and a little adventurous as she moved around to look at the guys. She saw the groupies up in front, covered in dark tattoos, and cringed. Body art could be cool, but it had to be small, hidden, surprising. Arms covered in patterns of blue and black ink were hideous. Near the bar were guys who came to either get drunk or hit on girls who came to get drunk. Most of the tables around the floor held couples dancing around what they really wanted or groups of people who just wanted to get away from the week they’d just had. Behind a table full of college guys trying to one up each other with shots, she spotted her target.

He stood against the wall and nursed a bottle of beer from a local brewery. His hair was carefully tousled and set in place. He wore pressed black slacks, his shirt was nice, but not formal, and his sports coat looked well-tailored. What drew Tiffany to him, though, was the worn out sneakers on his feet. Almost everything she had read told her to stay away from guys who didn’t wear expensive shoes, but with all the time she’d spent on campus she knew better.

A guy who dressed nicely, except for the shoes, and spent his nights out mostly alone usually had just grown into who he was. In high school, he was usually a geek. He spent his time doing math or computers. Now that he was in college, he was trying to reinvent himself. He was trying to push aside his shameful past and become something better than he was. And they were always so grateful for whatever Tiffany was willing to give them.

She smiled as she walked across the bar watching him stare at the band. From across the room, she thought he’d been cute, but the closer she got the more she realized that he was even cuter. His hair had a little curl to it. His jaw was nice and strong. And his shoulders were just the right width. The bar had been the right choice.

“Do I look fat in this?” she asked when she was standing next to him.

His head jerked in surprise. “What?”

She smiled at him, “Do you think I look fat?”

“No,” he said, quickly. “Why would you ever think that?”

She put her hand on his arm and said, “I was just checking.” She took the beer bottle from his hand and took a drink. His face flushed and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat.

Tiffany handed the beer back to him and let her hand linger on his. “My name is Tiffany,” she said, looking into his eyes.

“Uh,” he said, his eyes darting left and right, “I-I’m Peter.”

She smiled at him again and said, “Hi, Peter.”

It was just after seven in the morning when Tiffany parked her car in the driveway. The night had been much better than she’d expected it to be. It had been so nice that she had even considered visiting Peter again. Not tonight, of course, but next week would be good. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent the whole night with anyone. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met anyone worth staying with the whole night.

Shoes in her hands, she shut the door quietly, not wanting to wake anyone.

“And where were you, young lady?”

Her grandfather. Several curse words quickly went through Tiffany’s head. Usually he didn’t get up until after nine. What was he doing up so early.

“Out,” she said, turning to face him. He had always been a stern looking man and it had only grown as his hair turned completely gray. Tiffany figured that he grew the beard to hide all the wrinkles he’d gotten from frowning at everything.

“Out where?” he asked, his steel eyes trying to bore into her.

“Out there,” she said, flicking her hand toward the door.

He sighed, “We’re done with this, Tiffany.” He started walking away from her toward the sitting room.

She followed him. When he sat in his chair she asked, “Done with what?”

“All of this.” His eyes closed and he put his fingers against the sides of his head. “You,” he said, “living here.”

Tiffany looked at him and frowned. “I don’t,” she said, “understand.”

“And you don’t have to. You’re going to live with Jacob.”

She jerked in surprise. Jacob lived in New York. In Manhattan. She moved to the couch across from her grandfather’s chair and sat down, hard.

“What happened to you, Tiffany?”

“What?” she asked.

“You used to skate, Tiffany.”

“Yeah,” she said, remembering. Before they had moved to Lawndale, Tiffany would go to the ice rink every day and skate. More than skate, she would fly. There were days when she had to be pulled off the ice because she’d lost track of time and the rink was closing.

“Your grandmother and I thought you were so lovely.”

She had learned all the tricks. She could kick herself into the air and land with grace and poise. She hated doing programs, though. Programs were just moving from one trick to the next for points. What she’d loved was to dance. To fly around the ice to the beat of music. To kick and spin when the music asked for it, not because it was expected of her because everyone had to do it. She never felt more safe, more herself than when she was dancing on the ice.

“What happened?” he asked, again.

“We moved,” she said, locking her eyes with his, “to Lawndale.”

“You could ha-”

“You didn’t want to drive me. Neither did grandmother.”

“Bu-”

“You found,” she paused, “other things.” She waited for him to answer. When he didn’t, she said, “So I found other things, too.”

“Are you blaming us?” he asked, crossing his arms and frowning.

“I don’t have to,” she said.

He stood, quickly, and said, “And that’s why you’re leaving. I want you to go upstairs and pack what you need for the next five days. We’ll send the rest of your,” he rolled his eyes, “belongings later this week.”

Tiffany stood and followed him out of the sitting room. He stopped at the stairs and she continued up. When she was almost to the top she stopped, turned around, and asked, “Is Jacob my father?”

Her grandfather’s face turned white, then red, then purple. “YOU ARE NOT TO ASK THAT QUESTION!” he shouted. “WHEN YOU GET TO NEW YORK YOU WILL NOT SPEAK OF SUCH THINGS!”

Tiffany turned around and finished climbing the stairs. He was still yelling as she walked into her room. She smiled to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finding Tiffany's voice was fun. She's so different from me. Stacy, on the other hand, is exactly what I would have been had I been thin and good looking in high school.
> 
> This was written two years after Stacy's story, again at [Paperpusher's](http://thepaperpusher.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=515574#p515574). Guess how long it was before the third part was written.
> 
> Minor edits have been made.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first fan fic, of any length, that I posted (on 11/23/2009). You can see the original over at [The Paper Pusher's Message Board](http://thepaperpusher.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=6&t=27385). I was writing an adult Stacy story at the time and I needed to understand how she came to her feelings about the Fashion Club. The story of the adult Stacy had only one chapter written and was never posted.
> 
> Minor edits were made.


End file.
